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(J O D WITJI THE AGED 



SERMON 



P K E A (• 11 K 1) T () T II E ¥ I H ST (11 I" ]{ (' H, 



Jax. 7, IK 19, 



THE SUNDAY AFTKl! THE DEATH 



IIOi\. PETEK C. miOOKS 



BY N. L. FROTIIINGIIAM, 







I'Asroii or jiiK ciirii 


■11. 








3.i)rfbntr. 




■ 






BOSTON: 






PRINTED 


BY 


JOIIX WILSON, 21, 

1849. 


sciioor. 


STREET. 



GOD WITH THE AGED: 



SERMON 



PREACHED TO THE FIRST CHURCH, 



Jax. 7, 1849, 



THE SUNDAY AFTER THE DEATH 



HON. PETER C. BROOKS 



N-JUi/] 




BY N-J^Lo^FROTHINGHAM, 



PASTOR OF THE CHURCH. 



^rfbatc. 



BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON, 21, SCHOOL STREET. 
1849. 









Y 2 1918 



SERMON 



Isaiah, xlvi. 4. — and even to youk old age i am the same ; and even to 

HOAR HAIRS WILL I CARRY YOU. I HAVE MADE, AND I "WILL DELIVER YOU. 



Blessed be God for all those who have found this to be 
true ; who have been carried thus to the end, and were 
then laid down in peace ! Blessed be God for all those 
who were conducted graciously, and who conducted 
themselves honorably, through a long career of this life's 
service, and were then delivered with equal mercy out 
of all its troubles I Blessed be God for all those whose 
" hoar hairs" were crowns of glory, because always found 
in the ways of righteousness, and who have now ex- 
changed these for crowns of incorruption, because they 
have been redeemed into an everlasting inheritance ! 
For their influence while they continued to live, for 
their comforts when they came to die, we give thanks. 
They have fought a good fight, and are now safely at 
rest. They have kept the faith, and noAv the faith keeps 
them. Nothing is more venerable than their example ; 
nothing more fragrant tlian their mcmor}'. 



,a«- 



My hearers will not be surprised that I bring before 
them, on the new year, the subject of old age and death. 
It is not that the flight of time is always connected with 
the changes it will bring to pass, and with thoughts 
of decay and mortality. It is not that the beginning so 
naturally suggests the end, though this would be reason 
enough for endeavoring to guide your thoughts in that 
direction. But there is another cause that is urgent 
with me, and will indeed allow me no choice. My heart 
compels me to one theme ; and I yield the rather to this 
necessity of affection, because I know that your feelings 
are in unison with mine. Your expectation from this 
day's service is turned the same way that my own pur- 
pose is. You are concerned, as a religious society, in the 
events to which I shall allude, and in the bereavement 
that is associated with so many recollections of departed 
years. 

The twelvemonth that has just rolled away from us has 
carried with it an unusual number of our aged friends. 
The worth of some of them may have been known 
but a little way beyond their own households. They 
will be missed but by the few who enjoyed the evening 
light of their quiet smiles, or watched oxer their infir- 
mities. Others filled more conspicuous stations, and 
left a wide void when they were removed out of sight. 
I will say nothing of those who had no si)ecial connec- 
tion with us, — of those who inspired no other interest 



than that which always attends advanced periods of life, 
and their well-worn honors. I speak only of such as 
had made their presence familiar to this house of wor- 
ship. The year had scarcely opened, when the most 
aged member of our congregation* gave way at last 
under the pressure of time ; having awaited long, with a 
willing looking-out for it, that release. It was still 
winter when an humble eulogy was pronounced here on 
an illustrious name,f that was inscribed in our church- 
book as well as in the history of his country's glory, 
and that was struck from the roll of the living with as 
much distinction as it had continued through so long a 
period to stand there. The autumn was declining into 
winter again, when another friend, J whose season had 
waned even further than the year, was remembered 
among us with the sympathies of an ancient regard, 
since there was nothing but his memory left. The last 
Lord's day called us to refer to one of our number, who 
was just touching the further limit of his fourscore 
years.§ He was approaching it with a steady strength, 
surrounded with the domestic affections to which he was 
fully alive, and with the active cares in which he could 
still accomplish his part, and with the satisfactions of an 
upright and well-approved course. But he was suddenly 
forbidden quite to lay his hand upon that far goal, where 

* Samuel Austin. j Edward llcyuolds. 

t John Quincv Adams. ^ John Woodhrnv. 



the psalmist admonishes of labor and sorrow that cannot 
lie off much further. And now it has pleased God to 
strike far deeper into this church, and to clothe many 
of us with the garments of mourning. He has removed 
from our fellowship, and from numerous earthly trusts, 
and from a wide circle of revering love, one whom all 
knew, and whom the past generation as well as the 
present had learned to respect. It was among the exer- 
cises of my boyish hand to write his name again and 
again, long before I ever thought to see his face, at the 
head of the list of our senators ; a station where he 
rendered important services, which are still felt through 
this whole commonwealth. It was among the most 
precious advantages of my manhood to be guided by the 
clear wisdom of his counsel, and to have before me 
continually the humble loftiness of his character. The 
last of my tears have dropped at the thought, that I 
should not again look upon his benign countenance, or 
hear the voice that had never spoken during these so 
many years but in the tones of advice or playfulness 
or affection. 

It is a delicate task for me, and a trying one, to under- 
take to make mention of him here thus openly. But I 
can leave it to no one else. It belongs to me. For half 
a century and upwards, he occupied the same relative 
position in the old meeting-house and the new ; and how 
constantly, with the constancy that marked him in every 



thing, he was here in his place ! He had become the 
oldest survivor in an assembly, from which death is every 
year transplanting the flowers, and harvesting the shocks 
of corn that are fully ripe. And therefore the minister 
here has permission and a call to speak of him. He 
was a public man and a benefactor ; one to whom many 
looked up, and many who never saw him were largely 
indebted. He was unostentatiously distinguished among 
his fellow-citizens. He was a giver and a worker, 
wherever he felt that the welfare or the charities of the 
community were concerned. And therefore I ought to 
speak of him, and must speak. Make allowance for me 
in performing this duty, if I do it with the utmost sim- 
plicity and with some reserves. For these are best suited 
to the modest excellence that always sought to deserve 
praises rather than hear them ; and these alone can keep 
within control the personal feelings that have to enter 
into the task of describing it. If I should say all that is 
in my heart, it might seem to exceed propriety, or would 
be choked in the utterance. 

Look back, those of you who can, upon the most 
active part of the life of the venerable friend we have 
just lost ; though his life was so full of a true principle 
and energy, that it refused to be ever otherwise than 
active, and active towards a purpose. You who cannot 
remember so long as that, may have it from tradition how 
diligent he was, early and late ; how devoted to every 



8 



thing that carried the form of an obligation ; how faith- 
ful in whatever was confided to him ; how quick, but 
how accurate ; how observant, with the powers of a keen 
and comprehensive judgment, of whatever it became him 
to take into his regard ; how strict in his rules, but how 
kind in his manners ; how serious in his views, yet 
how cheerful in his dispositions. lie wasted no time. 
lie forgot no responsibility. It did not cost him an 
eff"ort to resist the temptations of his younger days ; and 
especially that of an almost universal custom, which 
swept into dangerous indulgences some of the most 
influential and best-reputed men. lie was guardedly 
temperate before it became discreditable to be otherwise. 
He was temperate in all things. By his caution and 
promptness and courtesy and industry and unblemished 
probity, he exalted his plain employment into so much 
consideration, that it attracted persons from a distance 
to avail themselves of its advantages. These qualities 
would have given him the lead in any department of 
life, on which he might have chosen to exercise his 
sagacious mind and the composed resolution of his will. 
For they were moral qualities. They were such iis carry 
with them their own nobility and prevalence. They are 
almost sure to beat out the paths even of temporal suc- 
cess. They remind me of what a Roman biographer 
says — and he says it twice — of an admirable man, the 
stamp of whose worth resembled, in more respects than 



9 



I can stop to name, those features of character which are 
now claimmg our notice, and to which my heart turns 
with a homage and an affection that strive to outdo 
each other. The language of this writer is, — " He so 
conducted himself, that the proverb might seem fulfilled 
in him, ' Each one's behavior moulds his fortune ; ' for 
he did not fashion his condition, till he had first modelled 
himself; taking care that no one should rightfully cen- 
sure him in any thing."* The person thus spoken of — 
after a lengthened course of retired industry, pursuing 
a strict method of life, exhibiting a frugal liberality, 
enjoying impartially the friendship and confidence even 
of those who were not friends together, and employing 
his opulent means for use and propriety and never for 
display — -was buried without the usual pomp, at the 
fifth milestone from the city where his name was a 
praise. In all these respects, the noble man whom w^e 
mourn has been like him. He was a pattern of mercan- 
tile integrity, without belonging exactly to the class of 
our merchant-citizens. As such, he spread at the time 
a healthful influence extensively around him. As such, 
he may worthily and usefully be held up to the imitation 
of the present age, which he has left so far behind him. 

" Truth sat not on her square more firm than he.'' 

Come on with me now for a space, and see liim, as 

* Nepotis Atticus, cap. xi. 



10 



very many of you may have seen him, in the early and 
mellow afternoon of his tranquil but busy day. He is 
the same man in his retirement that he was when 
more before the world, — the same, but that the hair has 
fallen away from his ample forehead, and what has been 
left is changing its color. What should suffer change 
in the spirit that was so fixed in its sentiments, its habits, 
its reliances'? There was no indolence, no selfishness, 
no timid retreat, no giving way either in the energy or 
the exercise of any faculty that he ever possessed. The 
methods of the former discipline guided him still. He 
kept himself employed, without hurry and without fa- 
tigue. He divided himself between four different cares ; 
all salutary and honorable, and all nearly in the same 
proportion. There was the cultivation of his farm, the 
improvement of his ancestral acres ; that noble and 
almost divine labor, which one shares with the vast pro- 
cesses of nature and the all-surrounding agency of God. 
This took up much of his attention, in that temper of si- 
lent reverence with which every cultivated mind observes 
the works of the Creator. Then there were his books, 
which he read rather for instruction than for a pastime ; 
read with an extraordinary wakefulness of thought, and 
a sincere love of the task ; and read so much, as to lead 
me often to think that the understandings of some pro- 
fessed students were less nourished than his was from 
that source of information. There were his friends alsd, 



11 



and they were a large circle ; the social intercourse that 
no one enjoyed with a higher satisfaction than he. He 
always contributed to it as much as he received. His 
company was welcome to young and old. No one left 
it without a pleasant impression of that uniform urbanity, 
which was no trick of manner, but the impulse of a 
kindly heart. No one left it without wishing him a real 
and earnest blessing with the formal farewell. Finally, 
there was devolved upon him the management of a 
large estate, that might have been made much larger if 
he had chosen to have it so ; if his feeling had been less 
scrupulous, or his hand less beneficent; or if his soul 
had been greedy of gain. The estate, if it had been a 
thousand times greater, would have been less than him- 
self 

In this practical philosophy of life he perseveringly 
dwelt. How much better than what theorists and talkers 
call philosophy, was this unpretending, unuttered wis- 
dom I No one could have been frequently with him, 
without being struck with his forbearance, prudence, and 
self-command ; with his charitable judgment of other 
persons, and his considerate treatment of all ; with the 
gentleness of his demeanor and the modesty of his speech; 
with the simple, quiet force that was seen to lie in him ; 
— seen by the reflecting eye, not heard through the loud 
expression of itself, or any expression. He carefully 
avoided speaking with asperity c\en of tllo^s^ who dc- 



12 



sensed it, and was merciful towards the errors into which 
he never fell. His sense of character was at the same 
time extremely delicate. Delicacy was one of the fea- 
tures of his solid mind. He seemed to have an mstinctive 
perception of what is becoming, as well as an inherent 
respect for what is just ; and he was therefore never 
without dignity. He valued a good name as second to 
nothing but goodness itself; and therefore he avoided 
every appearance of evil. How free he was from every 
shadow of assumption, you all perceived. His tastes 
remained simple in every thing, — his desires few. His 
affections were the only thing in him that knew no 
bounds. It was a part of his wisdom to be moderate in 
his expectations, as well as in his enjoyments ; and not 
to demand too much fi:om frail creatures, and an incon- 
stant world, and a hasty life. 

Another stage of that life has now been passed ; and 
let me show him to you once more. He is stricken in 
years. Stricken. Not sorely and painfully, — not dis- 
paragingly and shamefully. But nature, and not he, 
shows signs of drooping. His eye is dim. His steps 
are straitened. His active power is departing from him. 
It is not by violence. It is not by disease. He is only 
marked, that he may be called for. If he was slow to 
acknowledge this, he had prepared himself for it, and met 
it with a smiling constancy. His brave and cheerful spirit 
did not forsake him. His self-poise did not tremble. 



13 



He remained consistent in every thing as before. His 
love for those nearest to him took even warmer expression. 
He presented a beautiful image of what the decline and 
last term of a virtuous life can be. There was not a 
moment of regret, or repining, or uneasiness, or discon- 
tent ; not a touch of the moroseness that is said, though 
I do not believe it, to darken usually along the track of 
age. With an unruffled, unclouded serenity, but with a 
lively attention, he took an interest in the course of affairs 
that was going on at a distance from him or around him, 
and that was soon for him to be nothing. 

He was now constrained to give up his attendance 
on those public offices of religion, which he held in the 
most sacred honor, on which he had always waited with 
the most assiduous devotion, and in which he had taken 
the sincerest delight. But the faith of that religion 
glowed mildly in his breast. The temper of that religion 
was abundantly manifested in the meek fruits that it 
bore; in the fervid gratitude with which he surveyed 
the past, and acknowledged his surrounding mercies; 
and in the manly submission with which he continued 
to go on whither it might please God. The assurance 
of the text was never made a more blessed reality to any 
human being than it was to him : " Even to your old 
age I am the same, and I will carry you ; I have made, 
and I will deliver you." Yes, that heavenly presence 
Avent with him. and gave liim peace. 



14 



When he became more closely shut in, and more 
hea^dly encumbered with the weights that cannot but 
press upon the failing frame, all that you saw of him 
was just what it had ever been. He did not speak or 
do any thing unworthy of himself, or unlike himself. 
Age moves on by successive platforms, rather than over 
an inclined plane. Every new descent to a lower stair, in 
the way that was now near its end, he made with perfect 
acquiescence, and even with an endearing gracefulness. 
He looked round him from it, and spoke rather cheer- 
fully than sadly. Not a sigh escaped him, — much less 
a complaint ; not a moan of pain, not a gesture of impa- 
tience. He was composed. He was content. He was 
thankful. 

It seemed good to the Almighty and most merciful 
Father, when this servant of his, whose way through 
the world had been so long, so blameless, so useful, was 
brought down to the bed from which he had strength no 
more to rise, that he should not be fastened to a sick 
couch ; that he should not linger, after there was nothing 
further for him to do ; that he should not be detained 
from his better portion. The same loving-kindness that 
had been shed round his former hours was ready to 
crown the last. He had scarcely finished replying to an 
anxious inquiry, how he found himself, with his usual 
word. " I am wt^ll," when he was indeed well ; delivered 
lioni the infirmities of tlie flesh, and the troubles of time, 



15 



and all the various exposures of a mortal lot. He only 
appeared to grow more weary, and then to drop asleep. 
His hand became cold, while his feet yet preserved the 
warmth of life. The angel of death had taken him by 
it as with a friendly clasp to lead him hence, and his 
steps took hold of the life eternal. 

It is a great public as well as private loss, when so 
eminent and estimable a person is removed from the 
earth. It will be felt in many quarters, where his advice 
was waited for with deference, and where his aid has 
been habitually received. A fountain of supply has been 
stopped. An object of confidence is missed from his 
place. But the example of the excellent is never lost. 
The lessons of thek uprightness and purity speak on. 
The hopes to which they confided their souls live on. 
The good that they have done remains after them, as well 
as follows them. " The righteous shall be in everlasting 
remembrance." 

" All heads must come 
To the cold tomb. 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." 



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